The Radio Boys First Wireless | Page 4

likely killed," muttered Joe. "Don't see how any one could live through that."
The store through whose windows the car had dashed was the largest paint and hardware store in the town. The crash had resounded far and near, and people were rushing toward it from all directions. The boys reached the place first, however. They opened the door and raced in, only to be greeted with a heavy volume of smoke, through which flickered tongues of fire.
In the midst of a mass of d��bris was standing the wrecked auto. The gasoline tank had been smashed by the impact, and the contents, luckily a small amount, had been scattered over the place and come in contact with a stove. The flames had spread to a large part of the paints and oils and other inflammable materials that the store contained. One of the clerks in the place had been hit and stunned by the car, while two others, together with the proprietor and a customer, were making desperate attempts to beat out the flames.
Bob's quick eye caught sight of a case of hand grenades standing near the entrance, and his qualities of leadership came into play at once.
"Grab those grenades, you, Herb, and, you, Jimmy," he cried, "and throw them where they're most needed. Come with me, Joe, and get that girl out of the car. Quick!"
In a twinkling, Herb and Jimmy were hurling the grenades at the points where the fire seemed to have gained most headway, while Bob and Joe worked their way over the mass of boxes and wrecked fixtures to the place where the runaway automobile had ended its mad rush.
The plate glass windows had reached almost to the ground, so that the automobile with its great momentum had easily surmounted the sills and reached nearly the middle of the store. One wheel had been torn off, the windshield was shattered into fragments, and the front of the machine had been crushed in.
In the driver's seat, still with her hand on the wheel, was the figure of a girl. No sound came from her, and from the way her body drooped forward, limp and motionless, it was evident that she was either unconscious or dead. The boys feared the worst, especially when they saw a stream of blood trickling down from a wound near her temple.
They worked at top speed, trying to reach her and draw her out from the driver's seat. But the bent and tangled mass of wreckage held her captive, and it was only after other willing hands had come to their assistance that they were able to lift her from the car.
They bore her to a point just outside the door, and laid her on some boxes that were hurriedly placed side by side. Her eyes were closed and she was deadly pale, the whiteness of her face being accentuated by the blood that dripped from her wound. She was a young girl, apparently no more than twenty, and was quietly though tastefully dressed. It was evident that she still breathed, and a slight fluttering of the eyelids indicated that she was returning to consciousness. Directly across the street was the Sterling House, named after its proprietor, and Mrs. Sterling, a motherly looking woman, who was among those who crowded around to look and help, recognized the girl at once.
"Why, she's one of our guests!" she exclaimed. "Her name is Berwick-- Miss Nellie Berwick--and she's been staying with us for the last three days. Some of you bring her across to her room, and some one else hurry and get a doctor. Oh, there's Dr. Ellis now!" she exclaimed with great relief, as she descried a tall figure in the crowd hurrying to the side of the injured girl.
Under the doctor's directions, Bob and Joe, assisted by two others, lifted the girl and carried her across to the hotel. And while they are engaged in this work of helpfulness, it may be well for a better understanding of our story to sketch briefly the careers of Bob and Joe and their friends and the surroundings in which they had been brought up.
Bob Layton was the son of Henry Layton, the leading druggist and chemist of the town. Bob had been born and brought up in Clintonia, which was a thriving town of about ten thousand inhabitants in an Eastern state, about seventy-five miles from New York City. It was located on the Shagary river, a stream that afforded abundant opportunities for boating, fishing, and swimming, and was a source of endless pastime and recreation for the boys.
Bob, at the time this story opens, was fifteen years old, of rather dark complexion, and was tall and well-developed for his age. He was vigorous and athletic and a lover of outdoor sports. His magnetism and